


Craft Night

by morelikeassassin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Absolute airheaded fluff, Fluff, Season 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 21:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morelikeassassin/pseuds/morelikeassassin
Summary: Excerpt: "The dark and unknowable powers worming their way through Jon's mind weren’t satisfied with getting him nearly killed anymore. Now, they seemed intent on making him socialize with coworkers outside the workplace. This was, in some ways, worse."





	Craft Night

**Author's Note:**

> Ought to take place somewhere in Season 3. I had ideas for how this might play out earlier or later, but this seemed like it would fit the best.

“Knock-knock.”

Jon could never figure out why Basira said that out loud sometimes instead of knocking. It was what he deserved for leaving his door open, he supposed. He looked up from his notebook with a polite sort of expression that an inexperienced viewer might call a smile.

“What can I do for you, Basira?” he asked.

“Just wanted to see if you need anything before I head out,” she explained. Jon frowned, his eyes darting from the purse already slung over her shoulder to the clock on his desk. Basira didn’t usually leave the Archive for at least another hour.

“No,” said Jon. “No, that’s fine, thank you. Everything alright?”

Basira looked surprised that he would ask. “Craft night,” she said.

Jon’s frown turned doubtful. “Excuse me?”

“Martin says it’s a thing,” said Basira. “Want to come?”

“I think I will survive an evening absent of… crafting… with you and Martin,” Jon said slowly. An image formed in his mind of Martin knitting a scarf, with the long, heavy tail of it draped over his shoulders. “Whatever that entails.”

Basira shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s great stress relief, actually. Takes your mind off things.”

Something about her tone made Jon suspicious. “Sorry, am I missing something? Is this a euphemism for… Not crafts?”

“ _Gross_ , Jon,” Basira spluttered, barely containing a laugh. “With Martin? And you?”

“Wh… No! God, no,” Jon’s face flushed, and he clutched his notebook to his chest defensively. “No, I wasn’t thinking that. It’s just- It’s a little unorthodox, you have to admit.”

“I’ll prove it,” said Basira. “I’ll bring you something. Martin’s just done with his, I’m sure he’ll be happy to give it a good home.”

“Don’t.” Jon could have sworn that Basira was enjoying watching the panic grow in his expression. “Under no circumstances are you to bring me something from craft night. Just- Just go, have fun.”

The situation was spiraling out of control before it had even begun. If Jon got a gift from Martin, he would have to do something to make it up to him, probably something at craft night. Then he would be expected to go the next one, and if he made some excuse to get out of it then Martin would feel sorry for him, so he’d make Jon something else to make him feel better, which would start the whole cycle over again.

“At least I know what excuse to make when I _do_ want to leave early to go shag someone,” said Basira.

“Good night, Basira,” Jon said loudly. She closed the door behind her, and he could hear her laugh as she retreated down the hallway. He set the notebook back down on the table to stare at it for a few seconds, trying to disentangle his previous train of thought from pictures of Martin and crafts and "not crafts".

“Done with his what?” he muttered.

Mercifully, Basira seemed willing to act like the whole thing never happened for the next few days. She did, however, leave early the same day next week. Jon did not ask about it a second time when she came to tell him, and tried not to notice when she lingered in the doorway after he said he didn’t need anything. He looked up at the sound of rustling newspaper as she unslung what appeared to be a poster tube from her back.

“Want to see what I’m working on?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to say no, but suddenly he did want to see. It wasn’t a natural, human curiosity. He was getting better at telling the difference. The dark and unknowable powers worming their way through his mind weren’t satisfied with getting him nearly killed anymore. Now, they seemed intent on making him socialize with coworkers outside the workplace. This was, in some ways, worse. Unfortunately, his analysis didn’t lessen his desire to see the mysteriously papery object inside of Basira’s poster tube.

“Alright,” he summarized.

With a satisfied little smirk, Basira held the cylinder back outside the room and wiggled it back and forth. A delicate metallic sound came from within. “Come to craft night,” she said.

Jon sighed. “Really?”

“Yes,” Basira insisted, “You should have seen their faces when I told them you weren’t interested, you’d think I’d kicked a puppy.”

“Them, who’s them?” asked Jon. “I thought it was just you and Martin.”

“Melanie, too,” said Basira. “It was her idea. I got Daisy to come once, wasn’t really her speed. Tim used to show up all the time. Mostly he’s busy, these days.”

Jon looked down at his notes for the day, which he’d been scribbling little spirals and spiders all over for the past half hour or so. “Right,” he said, “At the very least, I wouldn’t like to be the only one in the office who doesn’t know what this is.”

“That’d be Elias,” said Basira.

“Well, now I _have_ to see,” said Jon, getting up from his chair and gathering the few things he’d brought with him that morning. “You really should have opened with that.”

According to Basira, they usually met at Melanie’s flat. Parking would be tight, so Basira offered to give him a ride there and back, just this once. Apparently Melanie kept all the supplies in a hall closet, though Basira said Jon would have to wait and see what the supplies were. He awkwardly asserted that he didn’t know the first thing about knitting or crochet, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a sewing needle. She laughed, and assured him that he’d figure something out when they got there.

“I texted ahead to say you’d be coming,” Basira said as they approached the front door. It was unlocked for them. Basira made straight for the kitchen to retrieve tea from Melanie, who shouted a greeting at Jon from across the flat. A large patch of newspaper was spread out over the floor next to a folding coffee table, dotted with metal shavings and some tools of nebulous purpose. At first, it looked like Martin was in fact lounging on the couch and knitting something, but the thing pooled in his lap was not a scarf. He held a pair of pliers in each hand, one of which was clamped into a sheet of interlocking metal rings. A bowl of similar rings was perched on a nearby table, next to a mug of tea and a half-full bowl of crisps. He waved his free pliers jauntily.

“Hi Jon! Glad you could make it,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about this sooner. It didn’t really feel like my thing to invite people to, y’know?”

“Quite alright, Martin,” said Jon. He meant it. “Is that chainmail?”

“Oh,” said Martin. “Yes.”

This seemed to be the extent of Martin’s opinion on the matter, and he returned to his task cinching the little steel rings together into a section of armor. Melanie came into view and handed Jon a cup of tea, shaking her head. “I told him the whole point was to do this stuff on the cheap. He still won’t tell me how much he’s spent on all those rings.”

“It’s relaxing!” said Martin. “Okay, _maybe_ I got a little ambitious, but I’d rather have one really nice thing than a bunch of small stuff I haven’t spent much time on.”

“Sorry, is that a sword?” asked Jon, gaping at what was in fact a four-foot-long sword slung over Melanie’s shoulder. Her free hand was wrapped gently around the hilt.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Where did you get that?”

“I found it.”

“You found a sword.”

“Yeah.” Melanie sat cross-legged in the middle of the newspaper and picked up what Jon now realized were supplies for sharpening and cleaning blades. “Thrifting, y’know? I used to go looking for haunted antiques and the like, turns out most of those places have swords.”

Jon watched as Basira settled at the table next to Melanie and unwrapped the layers of newspaper that had been insulating a baseball bat half-covered in nails within her poster tube. She was trying to conceal an absolutely immense smile, and failing at it. “She still has the cricket bat she started with,” she said. “That one inspired me to pick up something a little exotic. Of course, she got jealous and had to one-up me.”

“You’re crafting… weapons,” Jon finally said. All three of them looked up to stare at him. Basira burst out laughing, and Martin shot her an embarrassed look.

“You didn't tell him?” he yelped. Basira shook her head, not yet able to speak.

“That look was pretty priceless,” Melanie said with a smile.

Jon was already halfway out the door when Basira caught him by the shoulder. “Jon- No, wait, Jon, they really did want you to come, I just couldn't-” She devolved into a fit of laughter again. “-'not crafts’!”

“What she's trying to say,” said Melanie, “Is that we didn't want to risk Elias overhearing. At least not anything too specific. It's why I haven't mentioned it around the Archive, and why I asked them not to. You're pretty hard to get ahold of anywhere else.”

“You're making these to defend ourselves if we get attacked again,” said Jon, “Why would Elias object to-”

Melanie ran a whetstone very loudly down the length of her sword. “Elias gets cranky when I play with knives.”

“...ah,” said Jon. “Right.”

“Do you want to make something?” Martin asked hopefully. Jon looked at the pliers in his hands. Then at Basira's bat, and the tupperware container full of nails next to it on the table. He remembered the cool weight of the fire extinguisher that, not so long ago, had been the only thing between him and a slimy, gruesome death. The cold, bracing comfort that a lead pipe could bring when something was chasing you through the darkness, even if that comfort was the only protection it provided.

“You know,” said Jon, “I really think I do.”


End file.
